


Black Blood

by 27thFrequency



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Like Fuck SO Much Blood, M/M, Swearing / Cursing, Tags Will Update As Chapters Progress, lots of blood, slight body horror, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27thFrequency/pseuds/27thFrequency
Summary: After another explosion decimates Black Hat Inc, Flug is left alone and bleeding beneath the wreckage. Black Hat finds him.





	1. Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> I have no update schedule. You've been warned.

The world around him felt heavy and cold. Doctor Flug opened his eyes. Hadn't he? Everything was black. Eyes opened or closed, the same omnipresent void was all he could see.  
  
He stirred from his prone position. Everything was hazy. Had he left his room this dark? What time was it? Was he in his lab? Suite? As he tried to rise, his abdomen stuck and pinched. White hot agony shot from his side through his arms, and down to his toes.  
  
“AAaaaahHa… h-ha...ha...ha…n...” His scream trailed into ragged, unsteady breaths as gloved hands hastily flew to clench his side. Cutting them on the immense pile of rubble and metal that encased the space around him. His body trembled and shook as a sickening chill settled into his blood and bones. Echoing each violent vibration.  
  
_Shock._  
  
His scattered mind raised a million blazing warning signs, riling his adrenal response. Nerves blazed in a mix of pain and fear. His heart beating deep thuds that stole the breath from his narrow chest. Badly shaking hands twitched as he gingerly searched his damaged rib cage. Finally falling on a cool gnarled piece of shrapnel slick and sticky with blood.  
  
**His** blood.  
  
_Oh gods…_  
  
“No, no no no nononono.” His quivering lips kept repeating until the sound no longer registered meaning. Hands pressing to stem the loss of his lifeblood.  
  
Flug relaxed, his lead lulling backwards. The paperbag settled against more frigid debris. The brown craft paper crumpling as small needle like rubble punched several pinhole incisions that dug into the back of his scalp. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but his wounds. His small chest heaved in fitful exhalation. Each breath filling the enclosed space in a pitifuly distorted and drawn out crescendo. His head spun, slim form beginning to relax in the darkness. His elbows and legs fell onto unyielding mounds of concrete and shrapnel.  
  
_Oh gods. I’m going to die. I have to get out of here or I’m… I have to escape. I can’t. Not like this. Please not like this--_  
  
He squinted as lanky, rattling arms slowly groped the suffocating darkness. Studying the bed of metal and concrete where he lay for leverage. Torn gloves of both hands eventually settled onto a sturdy rod of concrete rebar jutting upwards. He steadied himself, breath coming in quick huffs, steeling his resolve for what he had to do next. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the rebar towards himself, lifting his small body. Debilitating spasms of pain wracked his hollowing form as the lead of his body creaked centimeters forward. He felt an unnatural pull on his bloodied side, like the feel of a thick rubber glove being stretched too far. His grip began to slacken as his arms filled with more lead. His throat burned and constricted as his heart threatened to beat through his chest. The rebar moved. His fulcrum pitched towards him, tearing his shredded flesh in a line opposite of it’s trail. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his mouth flung wide in a ear-piercing shriek.  
  
His hands dropped the remaining inches onto his stomach. He could taste the warm iron of fresh hemoglobin rising in his throat. It felt heavy and sick, a paste like ichor choking the intake of oxygen he required. His chest shook he weakly swayed his head to the side, the rich and thick taste of rust assailed his senses. Stomach churning and roiling as a grotesque, gurgling cough splattered a mouthful onto the metal below. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed anymore as thoughts were becoming fewer and harder to comprehend. The sounds of his squeaking breaths a thunderous roar in his freezing ears.

_Someone… please… h-help._

* * *

Black Hat was the first to recover from the explosion. He groaned as he swung at the large chunk of wall that had fallen on top of him. It barreled into the air in a straight line as though it had been propelled from a canon.  
  
His ebony claws had long burst through the tips of his leather dress gloves carving into a concrete slab as he braced against it. His pressed suit dusty and snagged. Other than a seething rage at the hubris of a now _thoroughly_ deceased, imbecilic client, he was none the worse for it .  
  
It’s not like this was the first time his lovely manor had been destroyed. However, it _was_ the first time one of those inferior ne'er do wells had tried to take the demo into their own hands. Haphazardly combining two of Flug’s inventions and overheating the hydrogen cores of both.  
  
He stood straight and tidied his suit, brushing off dust from the arms and shoulders. He surveyed the area and found it much more obliterated than usual. The other homes and buildings that lined the street had been reduced to sticks and rubble. The survivors busied themselves in a panic to find those missing and contact emergency services--the downside of having your base of operations in a suburban neighborhood. The amount of rebuilding and hush money this was going to cost Black Hat Inc would prove annoying. Demencia and 5.0.5 rose shortly from the piles of his mansion, the bear already licking his wounds.  
  
Black Hat huffed as he reached in his coat pockets for his phone. He motioned with one clawed hand and the remains of the iron gate and formed a familiar throne under him as he sat swiping on his phone.  
  
Demencia approached him vigorously. Checking him over in her obnoxious tenor. He continued to place the necessary orders for repairs and materials, until her incessant jabbing demanded his attention.  
  
**“ W H A T ? “** A deep bellow resonated from the tendrilous form as he shifted into an unearthly horror.  
  
“AREYOUOK? YOU’REGOODRIGHT?! WELL, I MEAN, you’re EVIL of COURSE. BUT FINEEE?”  
  
_How did she even breathe between sentences?_  
  
His shoulders quickly shifted back into their more elegant form and grit his razor sharpened fangs into an enraged snarl. “Go make yourself **useful** and start cleaning up!”  
  
She skittered away on all fours, climbing up a large piece of steel ribbing with ease before bounding off into the ruins below. He sat back into his iron wing backed chair. Shoulders slumping, breathing a sigh through his nostril slits. He kept swiping on his phone finishing off his materials lists and orders before booking rooms in the most opulent hotel in the city.

* * *

Flug jerked awake, another slick cough bubbling mouthfuls of viscous blood towards the metal below. He willed his fingers to move but found them unresponsive. More blood filled this throat and choked out the stale air around him. He gurgled and coughed, managing to clear his airway again. His back, pants, and shoes felt cold and soaked. He felt cold.  
  
Frigid.  
  
His sense of touch was beginning to numb. The darkness around him seemed to fill the space of his body and mind as though it always was. Always had been. The very idea of light the fevered dream of a madman.  
  
How could there be anything more than this? The void ichor was so soothing, so relaxing, so permanent.  
  
He felt himself slip into the velvety embrace of the abyss. Lucid.

* * *

The limousine service Black Hat had ordered pulled up right on time. Thankfully, not a moment longer. He exchanged the last bit of required pleasantries between tightly clenched fangs, as the officers and guild agents that surrounded him replied in fragile protest. He waived his dark elderwood cane towards the black car. Shouting at Demencia and 5.0.5 as he motioned toward the street.  
  
He watched sternly as the both clambered into the back. Over the next couple of minutes, his scowl deepened as he waited for another key member of Black Hat Inc. to pile into the waiting vehicle.  
  
“FLUG! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”  
  
He started to scan around the dark ruins of the manor, expecting the doctor to be cowering behind a pile of rubble. He stalked about the starlight mounds, uncovered eye burning red. Several minutes pass as he hears Demencia and 5.0.5 call him from the car. He disappears in a twist of acrid smoke and reappears inches from her face. Shaking with anger as several glowering eyes form under his monocle. Stiff Noir claws motion for the limo to leave.  
  
“If you’re cowering behind a rock somewhere you had _better_ hope I don’t find your sorry ass!”  
  
His emerald fangs started to froth with the force of his fury. His shoulders and arms jerk in sharp, jagged movements. Joints breaking and separating to reform into two long arms with extended claws. The multitude of eyes on his face gleamed in the pale moonlight. His optics forming both low-light and infrared thermal vision as he searched. Iron gates, cracked concrete, and all manner of metal, tubes, glass, and wires snapped then crashed loudly as Black Hat gripped them fiercely and scattered them behind him. Digging into the lower levels, he picked up faint heat signatures from several of the doctor’s machines.  
  
He passed below the lower level and first basement level, approaching the assembly line. A piece of rebar struck him on the cheek in his descent, a drop of liquid jade blood tickling his face. His brow furrowed as he landed on the damaged rubber pad of the assembly belt with a hefty boom. Crushing the automated system beneath his claws. He looked about the room. Piles of metal plating and rebar dotting the 3 foot thick concrete walls that lined the production floor. He scanned looking for Flug’s heat signature. It was indistinguishable from the steadily cooling machines and power cores. His forked tongue wisped in and out in several quick motions, tasting the stagnant air about him.  
  
His neck snapped towards a pile of heavy machinery that lay about 10 feet from him. The unmistakable aroma of fresh blood catching his attention. His bones and joints cracked and reshaped into his more dapper form. He began to surgically remove and slice through the metal and concrete below. The scent growing stronger.  
  
He pushed aside a large curved jet wing as he heard the unsteady, shallow breaths of his scientist behind the scraps of metal beneath him. Some more minor efforts yielded his quarry.  
  
Dr Flug lay crumpled in the middle of a small pocket of detritus. The entirety of the metal surface below pooled with his star-speckled blood. A painted rod of rebar several inches in diameter protruded from his rib cage. Black Hat stood over him and waited several seconds before hearing his shallow gasping breaths again. A frown formed on his face as he could barely distinguish the rise and fall of the doctor’s chest. His spat covered dress shoe kicked Flug’s unblemished side. He did not respond. Black Hat crouched beside him, balancing gracefully on the narrow metal plate that supported Flug’s body above the wreckage below. He placed a black clawed-tipped hand on his slender shoulder and shook him vigorously.  
  
Flug’s eyes shot open as he violently coughed up blood into the clear air above him. The specks of moon and starlight, almost blinding. His blood slickened coughs burst into a chilling scream once his airway cleared. The pain shooting into his hollowed body from the rough treatment unbearable.  
  
Black Hat’s toothy grin widened.  
  
“You seem to have found yourself in a… situation, doctor.” His gravely voice purred.  
  
Flug’s head fell back to the metal below with a squelch. His crimson stained mouth wide, gasping for any air he could find. He felt the distinguishable touch of his boss’ cool hand on him. The impression of talons easily felt through his T-shirt. After several moments, he tried to speak, a small whine escaping him instead.  
  
“I don’t think you’ll make it to a hospital if that’s what you were asking.” Black Hat shifted until he was sitting, long legs leisurely stretched out away from Flug’s body. He moved his frozen hands so that he cradled the other’s chin, bloodied paperbag resting in his lap.  
  
Flug stared up at the dark silhouette, Merlot hued eye shining down at him. The eager malachite fangs glistening in a predatory smile through near darkness. Flug felt so hollow, empty, cold. The icy hands on his chin, Black Hat's claw-tipped fingers trailing brisk lines down the exposed skin of the doctor's neck. His failing eyes shifted in and out of focus, each time falling back onto his boss.  
  
Several moments passed as Black Hat’s other hand came to rest atop his paperbag. Soothing him in a petting motion. Slight crinkles emitted from the bag.  
  
“Do you want to live?”  
  
Flug’s dampened senses barely registered the sing-song words. If he had the presence of mind, he could’ve sworn his boss sounded, happy?  
  
His lips moved but no sound came.  
  
His trembling rubber gloved hand shook as he inched it towards Black Hat's face at a glacial pace.  
  
Sharp fangs moved upwards in a crooked, immensely pleased grin. His clawed hand shot forward and ripped out the rebar lodged in Flug’s side. The sickening scrape of bone and flesh joining in with Flug’s anguished cry as the rod impaled resolutely into a nearby wall. Tears welled in his eyes as his vision faded. The numbing, frigid sensation rising from his fingers and toes into his legs and pounding chest. He strained to look above him. Watching with dimming vision as Black Hat’s clawed hand tore into the suited wrist of his opposite arm. The spray of green liquid permeating his eyes.  
  
His final thoughts lingered on how strange Black Hat’s hand felt entering the gash on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, friend. If you enjoyed this and would like a place to nerd out about all that is Villainous--or just talk about the fic--we have a 16+ Discord server! Please feel free to drop by and have a frightfully good time~ <3 ~!
> 
> https://discord.gg/RxQ8DT


	2. Premiere Hotel for Villains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Black Hat has a friendly chat with the building department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no update schedule. You've been warned.

Neat stacks of paperwork, contracts, and various forms along with several splendidly bound, slightly charred log books lay open in various states of completion on the imposing ebony desk that dominated the large penthouse suite. Black Hat sat bent over them, he held about a dozen or so pens with black tendrilis appendages. Each seemed to move in it’s own spirit, their deep set red eye slits twisting to view a log entry or document.  Sharp precise movements writing in his elegant, even hand.  
  
The tedious and tiresome task of rebuilding his grandiose mansion and about a block’s worth of residential homes was far from worthy of his magnificently malicious and devious mind. Thankfully, his coercion of the press had actually raised Black Hat Inc’s stock price. Courtesy of his ‘hostile takeover’ of that fuckwit’s assets. With his client deceased, little effort was required on his part to visit the brute’s ‘secret’ underwater cave. Seize the staff, site resources, and deeded title. The sale of the estate with _most_ of it’s equipment ready for another megalomaniac with half-baked plans for world domination; had netted him another egregious mass of wealth. Even notorious scoundrels liked the idea of a turn-key hide out. Only needing to bring their own wardrobe of obnoxiously colored leotards for the poor sods working there.  
  
He paused from his tasks as his phone chimed.  He placed the exquisitely hewn pen on the desk with a soft click, picking up his phone and swiping to answer. After a few hours worth of haggling over contract prices, swearing in five different languages, and a few dozen death threats; it was finally time for him to leave for his meeting with the city’s zoning and planning board. He rose from the monolithic desk, tentacles each depositing their respective pens into a large stone cup with small, fluid motions. One by one each disappeared in wisps of black smoke, the smell of warmed ozone trailing behind.  
  
His fluid movements gliding him across the thick crimson carpet of the spacious penthouse study. Gloved hand settling on a newly printed roll of plans. A product of the good doctor’s tireless efforts to constantly improve upon his previous designs. The corners of his fang accented lips curved into a small smirk. He recalled the contents of the blueprints that had been recovered from the ruins of his previous manor. Yes, these would be a vast improvement over the last design. With a much larger study and a dedicated library to accent the triple thick lead insulated walls and ballistics grade newly engineered cementitious material. It’s lateral load three times that of available traditional components and able to cast and cure in roughly half the time.  
  
He firmly tapped the large roll against his opposite palm before sliding it into a small metal cube. Green glow enveloping the bundle of prints as each inch slid into the wallet-sized device. He grabbed his cane, loping strides taking him out of the candle-lit room. His practiced hands pocketed the stored prints into the inner compartment of his swallow tailed coat.  
  
Minutes later, he was descending the dark ornamental spiraled staircase. The highly stylized, Victorian noir lobby awaited below. The eerie whine of an over-sized phonograph filled the room with a haunting aria from where it sat in the corner the lounge.  Nearby, a group of snow bearded men in pressed suits sat discussing past nefarious acts. The pewter platter between them strewn with tumblers of brandy in various stages of consumption. Their unsteady and slurred speech rising and falling out of time with the worn record.  
  
It wasn’t home, but at least the small sense of discord was comforting.  
  
He strode past a wall of ruby crushed velvet curtains on his way towards the towering steel doorway. Chest filling with the refreshing scent of several hundred burning candles placed along the twisted and warped sconces, candelabras, and tabletop holders that dotted the expansive corridor and lounge. He stopped upon reaching the black marble desk where bespectacled concierge politely bowed towards him. He returned the gesture with a tip of the brim of his top hat and a sinister grin.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr Hat, wil--”  
  
“That’s Mr. BLACK Hat you imbecile.” He barked, icy breath chilling the air around around the desk attendant, who flinched and shrank back towards the fleur de lis patterned walls, his shoulders spiking.  
  
“M-my apologies sir. Do you require the use of our domestic cleaning services for your suite today?”  
  
“Hmmm…” His brow creased in thought. He didn’t care for anyone snooping about his temporary study or bed chamber.  
  
“ Just, send them to my additional quarters.”  
  
“Very well sir.”  
  
The gentleman behind the counter straightened himself and bowed hastily. Head smartly smacking the desk in front of him with a sickening crack.  
  
A rich, gravelly laugh resounded from the depths of Black Hat's chest. Glad for the entertainment after such stagnating work. He adored watching the results of his prolific presence and otherworldly charisma. Hopefully, it would not be the last of such responses from his actions throughout the day. He rapped three times at the stately metal blast door, waiting as it lurched forward with a loud groan.  
  
He exited into the small foyer, tipping the brim of his hat to the barrel chested, scarred pair of guards that stood to either side of the blast door. Both regarded him with stern nods, the one to the left pressing a small button. A soft hiss sounded from the large revolving door as a locking mechanism disengaged somewhere overhead. His onyx coattails fluttering in the strong breeze as the door pushed open. The crisp fall air and synthetic essence of city’s daily pulse permeating his nasal passages and throat.

* * *

“Mr Black Hat, I understand that you operate a very… unique and… ah… diversified business infrastructure. However. This,” the greying building official made several exasperated hand gestures towards the unraveled plans clipped to a large section of the wall. “Is purely _excessive_. There’s no way it won’t be anything less than a _monument_ in the middle of simple houses! I can’t possibly authorize the use of these plans in the middle of a suburb!” His voice raced toward a fever pitch, frustrated hands running over his thinning scalp.   
  
Black Hat scowled, back resting firmly against the official’s task chair. He placed both of his spat covered dress shoes with a sharp click on top of the paper strewn chaos that was the man's diminutive work space.  
  
“You’ve already terrified the receptionist into granting your ridiculous plans an expedited review, managed to singe the carpets from here to said desk just by _walking_ on them, _and_ you’ve been one of the most disrespectful bastards to step into my department!”  
  
He tapped the ashes from the cherry red tip of his cigar against the fresh mug of coffee that sat atop the clutter in front of him.  Exhaling a long drag of smoke. The powerful rouge filling the older man’s face grew. Black Hat could have sworn he’d seen steam.  
  
“Are you done?”  
  
“No and furth--”  
  
“Listen, _friend_ ,” grainy voice soothing in wicked mock pleasantry, dripping with cold fury, “I like dirty talk and a good jerk as much as the next fellow. But,” an oozing, ink like tentacle suddenly shot from behind the official’s shadow, gripping his throat and holding him two feet aloft, “ _Y O U ’ L L    B E    A P P R O V I N G    T H O S E    P L A N S    N O W,    U N L E S S   Y O U ’ D    L I K E   T O_ ** _J O I N_** _Y O U R    P R E D E C E S S O R_ _.”_  
  
His sausage fingered hands scrambled fruitlessly to pry the dripping tendril from his throat. Eyes bulging from the pressure. He wheezed as his legs kicked the air around him. Black Hat gave another squeeze before releasing him into a crumpled heap on the floor below. He hacked and coughed, rubbing the throb from his bruised skin. A raspy chuckle resounded on the walls of the small office as his shark toothed grin tugged further up at the sides of his shaded face. Beaming with delight, he watched the terrified official shuffle through the mass of papers on his desk. He hastily grabbed a thick stamp and punched several shaking imprinted seals onto the documents.

* * *

Piping hot mugs of coffee, teas, and all other matter of cafe fare swirled into a cozy and intoxicating haze of liquid temptation. Black Hat sat straight backed in an ancient and sturdy French Provincial dining chair. Eyes half lidded as he blankly stared down the bore of another inferior villain across the table as they plead their case as to why they would make the most vile use of the long range death ray Black Hat had seized from the underwater lair. The egotistical droning of his potential client lulling him into a dull, absent haze. He huffed as he plopped his head onto a propped up hand. Elbows resting rudely on the teahouse table.  
  
The daft sod droned on for another twenty agonizing minutes before he noticed his arms dealer swiping absently on his phone. His bloated cheeks puffed in annoyance. Muttering several misnomers under his breath as he prepared his coffee with an obnoxious chorus of clanging and clanking.  
  
Black Hat sighed, “That’s all very _lovely. Beautiful._ Frankly, a _moving_ speech.” he huffed in a low tone, not sparing an ounce of sarcasm.  
  
“But," firm thud cutting the air as his tall mug made rough contact with the mahogany table below. “I have little interest in you or your petty plans for world domination. Do you have the funds to cover my price. Or. NOT?”  
  
A strained gulp followed by a short exhalation of breath fogged the lenses of the gas mask his client wore opposite him. The chilled air about them causing his saliva to stick at the back of his throat. The tension as palpable as the swift thumping of his beating heart. All of the rumors about the dapper, black arms dealer doing little justice to the experience of sharing tea with a true walking nightmare.  
  
“I, uh, well you see…” His deep tenor trailed off into nervous grunts.  
  
Black Hat’s impatient fingers drummed on the table top. The corners of his frown deepening into cruel indifference.  
  
“ _LOOK.”_ He rose sharply to his full height, palms slamming into the table. Disturbing the cups and serving dishes with a raucous rattle. Several pockets of lively conversation halted.

“I don’t have _time_ or any _remote_ interest in your _insignificant_ plans,” razor sharp claws broke the fingertips of his charcoal leather gloves. Each shaving tiny curls of wood off the top of the table. Harsh cadence hissing with an otherwordly malice. The emphasis of each word grating with the all the smoothness of an industrial rock tumbler. “Do you _have_ the money or _not_?”  
  
The broad chested miscreant jolted backwards. The front legs of his chair rising off the ground and smashing back onto the hardwood floors with a deafening crack. His arms flailed forwards catching the brim of the table to steady himself. Beads of cold sweat leaked in voluminous rivulets down his spine.  
  
He scrambled to pull out a hefty tablet as Black Hat retrieved out a sleek device of his own. A few quick taps and the full amount was transferred to his secured business account. A broad grin curving his fiendish lips into a satisfied, predatory smile.  
  
“A _pleasure_ doing business with you.” 

* * *

It was long after midnight by the time he arrived back into the gleaming red lounge of the hotel lobby. Long legs crossed as he sat enjoying a tall and very literal bloody Mary by the imposing fireplace. His eyes darted over the electronic impressions of his logbooks. Reviewing schedules for the reconstruction of his darling manor, and several reports on the day’s stocks in key markets. Before checking on the current press response. A few swipes confirmed the shipment of  the last batch of his building materials. He tapped the Black Hat Inc app, bringing up a large set of admin tools. While most of the security and remote start options were listed as ‘offline,’ he brushed them aside. Instead scrolling to the menu for one of their warehouses in the marina. After some minutes, the group of robotic drones housed there were assigned the task of taking in the materials. And later executing the reconstruction. The entire process would be complete within 14 day's time. 

  
He groaned as his arms sprawled back behind his head in a full body stretch. Joints popping and muscles straining in taunt relief; content to finally be done with the day’s tasks. His top hat resting against the plush upholstery of the near throne-like arm chair as he closed his eye. Head lulling back to relieve the pressure in his neck. He sat with his mind as a dulled palimpsest. Savoring the serenity of a long day concluded. His crimson eye opened as soft, cautious footsteps approached him.  
  
“What do you want?” His lips motioned downwards in a sneer at the familiar face of the concierge.  
  
The tiny man rang his thin hands anxiously, mouth struggling to form words many times and failing.  
  
“Out with it already! I don’t have all bloody night!”  
  
“Ah! I… had, ah, wanted to extend the services of our discrete ‘c-clean up’ crew. It has been a little over a week s-since sir had arrived with their… ah…” his rat-like face twisted, stumbling on the phrasing he was looking for, “ ‘guest.’ While you are w-w-wel… ah… allowed to do whatever you wish with the space you’ve leased, we d-do req-re-require that you not keep c-corpses in the rooms longer than 3 days. If you need to access our b-basement cryo storage, I can e-easi-. I can get you a keycard.” His beady, terrified eyes stayed fixated on the dark gentleman before him, his frail body noticeably shaking.  
  
_Oh!_  
  
The smile that grew across his face threatened to tear his head in two. Green fangs gleaming in the golden firelight.  
  
“ _Oh, no. Don’t you mind that… I’ve already taken care of him myself.”_  
  
The verminous man jumped back as Black Hat’s voice swelled with the tones of a legion of creatures and persons speaking as one.  
  
“V-very go-goo-good si-sir.” He skittered off as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him.  
  
It had already been a week. About time to check in on his experiment.

* * *

The elevator came to a gentle halt and he stepped out into the sitting room of his penthouse suite. Coloring books and the remains of some torn cushions dotted the darkened room, evidence that Demencia and 5.0.5 come from their rooms. Making use of his space while he was away. He shrugged it off, making a mental note to take up the hotel on their offer of maid services tomorrow. His thoughts and attentions focused on the short corridor that lead to the dual bedchambers. 

The door creaked open as a warm rectangle of light pierced the void pitch of the room. The electronic candles from the ambient hallway walls illuminating a still figure lying in the center of the large bed.  A swish of Black Hat’s hand activated the low level ambient candles on the sconce to his left.  
  
Flug lay in the center of the bed, just as he had left him. His lanky frame covered in deep brown, rust hued patches of long dried blood. His lab coat and T-shirt spattered with deep impressions of red and green. Black Hat sat next to him, sinking into the plush duvet as he removed his gloves. Bare hands pulling the torn blue shirt up, exposing the battered skin below. His hands gingerly traced over the scarred and traumatized mass where the doctor had been wounded. The flesh surrounding it still tender and mending beautifully.  
  
He beamed the way a child would upon receiving a brand new toy. He looked up from his ministrations and onto Flug’s disheveled and sprawled body. The cream earth toned fleur de lis blankets below him smeared in old blood. His position hadn’t changed since he’d dumped him onto the bed upon arriving, chest rising and falling in shallow, steady rhythm. No matter. He could be a patient man when something stirred his interests.  
  
He pulled the other’s shirt down and patted him encouragingly on the stomach, his grin never faltering. He gleefully chortled, rising to his feet. Motioning to turn off the light as he exited the room.  
  
“Sleep well doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a minute to thank you all so much for reading! All of the subscriptions, bookmarks, kudos, and comments mean a TREMENDOUS amount to me. They pushed me to get this chapter out faster and before a busy weekend. Thank you again for supporting me!
> 
> Thanks for reading, friend. If you enjoyed this and would like a place to nerd out about all that is Villainous--or just talk about the fic--we have a 16+ Discord server! Please feel free to drop by and have a frightfully good time~ <3 ~!
> 
> https://discord.gg/RxQ8DT


	3. A Chat and A Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no update schedule. You've been warned.

Deep well Ichor. Twilight. Miasma. Ink. Darkness.

It burns. Oh dear _gods_ why does it _burn?!_   
  
Every heave brought new embers, sulfur, flakes of brimstone.  Ash entering and leaving anew. Each breath acrid, necessary, and painful. His throat stuck. It’s walls adhered abnormally tight together. A lonely whining wheeze whistling out into the void. Feeling. Sensations. Both were fleeting. Coming in dizzying, drowsy spurts. The strangest sentiment; his mind waking before his body. Being aware, yet unable to move. The ephemeral, heaviness akin to sleep paralysis. Thinking, tactile sensations, yet unable to move. Brain trapped inside the prison of his corporeal form.     
  
Consciousness hits him.   
  
Bright eyes shot open behind cracked, stained goggles. A large, gasping breath breaks the hanging silence around him. It’s dark. The plush, familiar texture of a quilted comforter below him fades behind as he darts upright in the oversized bed.   
  
_Water._   
  
Long legs and shaking arms scramble off of the bed. Parts of his clothing stick like an old scab to the quilt below. Mind feverish; body shifting between burning and freezing. He spills unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor below. His high top sneakers screech against the polished floor as he rights himself. Bolting for the bathroom on-suite.   
  
Motion sensors set the tiled room with dappled, easy light. Their restive mood a direct contrast to the shambling, distraught motions as Flug’s disheveled body lurches over the vanity sink. Not caring that his paper bag deteriorates further with the rushing influx of water as he gulps it down greedily.   
  
His thirst keeping head hung low. Body hunched at the steel basin before for several long minutes. Until finally, he pulled up with an exasperated, relieved gasp. Tired eyes glazed and unfocused as he sunk to his knees. Arms limply falling to his sides as he stared at the ceiling. Wear back leaning against the tiled wall behind him--   
  
_Wait._   
  
His gloved hand tenuously settled on the wall behind him. Taking in the groves of the grout lines, the simulated woodgrain of the finely finished ceramic. Everything except--  
  
_Cold. Why doesn’t it feel cold?_   
  
He urgently shuffles, removing both insulated rubber gloves with trembling hands. Placing them palms spread over the temperate ceramic wall. There was no noticeable change. He grips the paper bag mask firmly towards his head, ignoring the crinkles it produces. Once brilliant mind now addled and instinctual. He leaned in toward his knees. Gripping his skull in an attempt to recall the events that had led him to this moment on the bathroom floor.   
  
Iron stained fingernails scratch into the bag at the back of his head. Nervous habit surfacing at his efforts to jumpstart his sluggish psyche and nervous systems. After several agonizing minutes, his exertion yielded frustratingly little results. Lithe arms drooped to the floor again as he attempted to relax, head settling onto the wall behind him. He stared listlessly towards the ebony vanity across the room. Full cognizance still eluded him. His mind wandered. Absently admiring the intricate, carved details of the steel cast Queen Anne’s style legs.  Each delicate support held the vanity and it’s stout fixtures in place. The dainty--period appropriate, he guessed; though from when he was uncertain--artisan embellishments of raised roses, carved fig leaves, and an exaggerated fleur de lis trailing upwards towards the steel countertop. The dark patina of the counter space meeting rich wood styled tiling. The luxurious piece finally resting on a curved and opulently framed mirror.   
  
Flug takes in his appearance. He’s covered in dark black and brown stains. Their contrast stark and jarring.Trails of hunter’s green meeting with his own iron oxide at his waist. Torn and ragged shirt and lab coat doing very little to protect the area of impact. His hands scatter and quiver as he fearfully touches the area. Searching for signs of his grievous wound. Bagged face deadpanning when he his fingers brush nothing but smooth, unmarred flesh.  
  
He scurries to his wobbling bean-pole legs. Shaking hands gripping the steel of the vanity as he braces himself against the sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. He looks up as both arms feverishly tear off the blood stained lab coat. Dropping it to the floor before grabbing his tattered shirt. He pulls upwards, exposing the small ribs and bare stomach beneath. There’s no scar, no incision. Only a light circle of dried, rust colored blood.   
  
Short quick respirations puff chilled clouds about the heated bathroom as Flug hyperventilates. His obscured mind spinning. Relying on his grip against counter below to steady himself. He had to think. Make sense of the flashes of memory. He mentally retraced his steps from the pieces.   
  
He was in his lab. Went below to calibrate some of his assembly robotics for a new production run. There had been a loud noise before he felt pieces of concrete rocket into him. Then nothing. Waking up pinned beneath the rubble. Screaming. Pain. Passing out. Again and again. He had tried and failed to free himself. Waking up. A dark, towering figure above him. Bright moonlight. Pain. Bone scraping on thick rebar. Then Black Hat, he--  
  
_Oh no. Ohgodsohno. Wh-what had he DONE to him?!_   
  
Flug began checking himself over. Hurried hands pulling off shoes to see if he had grown claws. Reaching into his bag to see if his face was an octopus. Fingertips rushing over his sides, back, and legs, looking for another mouth or eye. He found nothing.   
  
His breath hitched, bordering sobs. No matter how much oxygen he took in, it did little to soothe the punishment of his racing heart. A collection of minutes and moments pass before his breathing quiets. Each inch his neck rises carries the groan of aged gears scraping together. His breathing stops for a moment before resuming its breakneck pace.  
  
The usually shadowed welding goggles that he’s programmed to respond to his expressions below are pulverized. Large cracks and missing pieces of their round shapes reveal a set of black eyes beneath. His pupils have remained their normal hue However, the sclera of his eyes is black. Darker than the deepest India ink. He blinks, thinking himself still tired. His eyes do not change. He recoils in horror and quickly removes the customized goggles. Nervous fingers spreading the lids around his eyes open to study the darkened ‘whites.’ Veins, muscle, and snew are all tinted with an inky monochrome. That’s when he notices the normally pale skin beneath is… off. He raises an arm into the light. The former white and pink flecked skin has an unsettling tint of the slightest grey. All warmth and saturation drained from it’s once fleshy hue.

 _WHAT DID HE_ **_DO_ ** _?!_

Flug’s arms wrapped around his teetering form. His feet moving absently towards the wall behind him. Pausing as his rear bumped against the wall behind. He started as his charcoal eyed double looked back in equal horror from the mirror. It shrank back and disappeared as he slid down the tiled wall and onto the temperate floor. His lips muttering syllables that hadn’t any meaning. Audible manifestations of intense panic. A swell of bile rose in his stomach.  
  
Fear bubbled in his chest. Breathing labored and skin prickled with goosebumps. He tried several times to steele his resolve and failed. His exhalations came in rapid, frantic bursts. His small form heaving, heart a dull, heavy thud in his bird-like chest. He started counting down in his head. Rehearsing the fibonacci sequence. Creating a mental image of all real prime numbers in the first 100 digits of pi. Anything. Anything to spare him another panic attack. _Please, not now._ _Just_ _not now._   
  
Over an hour passes before he’s calmed enough to stand. He wobbles to his feet.  Shaking palms leaning against the wall to hold himself. A heavy, chilled sigh puffs into the air and hangs before dispersing. Both bare hands reach backward, cupping his head from behind and pull forward. Ruffling the paper bag as it presses closer into his scalp. He takes several deep breaths before tugging the broken goggles over his eyes with trembling fingers. After several long moments his breathing becomes more rhythmic and predictable. He bumps a shoulder on the door frame, exiting the bathroom. 

* * *

The manor lounge had been the cleanest 5.0.5 had ever seen it. Well, there wasn’t much to tidy when the entire building and its contents were less than a week old. Lately he had busied himself with picking up behind Demencia--much to her delight. He often thought about Flug but the door to his room was always locked. The few times that he’d slept curled to the side of the entrance to his creator’s room. He’d observed Black Hat entering and leaving. The dark tormentor never seemed to stay long. Only sparing a few minutes, before retreating to the uppermost floors of the house.   
  
He scratched at the back of a blue ear with a hind leg before stretching and yawning. He rose and shook a leg behind him, tossing sleep away from his bones. He decided to walk around the long halls to see if anything needed to be organized or dusted.   
  
His large shoulders tipped a few paintings. Which he righted, as he groggily patrolled the opulent--and spotless--passageway. He held up a paw to yawn, a low, endearing growl coalescing into a friendly “aroo.” He’s knocked backwards and off of his paws as something collides with him. Furry arms flail out comically to either side as he catches himself. Standing with both rear paws on the carpeted walkway. He quickly glances down at what had run into him.   
  
Dr Flug scampered to his feet and was starting to push past the big blue bear. The other’s appearance was alarming. He was covered from bag to sneakers in dried blood and… was that Black Hat’s blood? Spit?! His goggles and clothes were a mess. He _had_ to be injured ! The doctor _never_ walked about this disheveled. 5.0.5 panicked and grabbed the other by the waist as Flug struggled against the gentle hold like a hunted animal.   
  
“L-let me go 5.0.5! I don’t have time to play! Let. Me. GO!”   
  
His pushing limbs pressed against the blue fur covered trunks that held him in place. He felt them start to give a bit. 5.0.5’s resolve and fear at the strange behavior his uncharacteristic of his methodical friend. It deeply startled him. He became nervous with each second that passed as Flug’s movements became more erratic. 5.05's uncertain paws release him. He stumbles and recovers with a palm to the ground. Barely looking up before continuing his breakneck pace towards the top floor.  
  
Several minutes and stairs later. He’s approaching his boss’ office towards the middle of the long, embellished corridor. Numerous gilded frames and pedestals to either side of him tell the story and infamy of their owner. Some bare a familiar artist’s signature while others remained unsigned or unfamiliar. He ignores them all as he builds a brisk pace towards the tall double doors leading to the one being with answers.   
  
Cold clouds of breath dot the air behind him before swirling out of existence. Their temperature reaching equilibrium with the air occupying the hallway. A few rattling sounds echo from the ceiling above during his steps towards the set of doors. Hundreds of questions blaze through his thoughts, as they all focus on the sight of the large ornate steel handles 10 feet from him. A flash of green whisks by, missing his bag by centimeters. He can feel the air rush to fill the disturbed space beside him as he ignores the ardent burst.   
  
“Hey! You didn’t even flinch! What’s wrong with you?”   
  
A finger descends from the ceiling above to poke him on the back of the bag, as he whizzes past Black Hat’s biggest and most destructive fan. More rattle snake chatter and she’s hanging in front of his face like a bat. Each miss matched arms crossed over her chest. As the ecstatic face twists with momentary thought before a metaphorical light bulb sparks.      
  
“Woah. Looks like you got into a fight with a Super Soaker full of blood and lost.”   
  
She teases him as he brushes past her. Bare hands grabbing the intricate pull bars on the ebony doors, before flinging them open as he strides into the crimson lit office.   
  
Black Hat looks up from the projected hologram screen and log books as Flug casts the heavy wooden doors backward. His folded hands conceal a large cheshire grin. Choosing instead to admire the dilapidated intruder with a hidden smirk. Regaining his stoic composure, he rests both gloved hands politely on the desk before him. Straightening his back against the plush, towering throne.

* * *

“Ah, Dr Flug. I assume you have a _very_ good reason for disgracing my office with your sloppy appearance?” Gravel laden voice almost cooing.   
  
“WH-WHAT DID YOU _DO_ TO ME?!” The words are scarcely thought of before they spill from his mouth. Tumbling in a desperate apex as they crack around the edges, his voice decayed with disuse.   
  
“Tch.” Mock anger. His best poker facing hiding unbridled glee. “You _DARE_ to come into _my_ office and make accusations?! How ungrateful!” He rises from the crushed velvet of the chair below. Rising to his full height behind the monolithic desk.   
  
Flug leans forward and stumbling lightly. The adrenaline spurring him before waning as his current reality starts to set in. He’s in Black Hat’s office. He’s covered in blood. He’s yelled and made demands of the most evil being on the planet.   
  
He’s scared.   
  
Above all else, he’s scared. He has no idea what any of this means. The one holding his answers is just as terrifying as all the questions. His knees start to fail him. He grips the polished desk below as more bile rises to his throat. The padded, rich throw rug below starts to shift and spin as his eyes focus towards the floor.   
  
A rush of air at his side calls his attention. The fabric of his tattered blue shirt being lifted by a cold, gloved hand as Black Hat looks down to examine the healed wound. Flug’s startled gaze meets his piercing eye as a satisfied smile reveals rows of gleaming fangs. Pale, bare hands thrust forward to pull the fabric down over the exposed skin. His employer had touched him roughly, violently many times. But not like this. He was… appraising him. Inspecting a more probably a more appropriate term.   
  
Black Hat circled Flug’s hunched form in a crescent  path around the front of his monumental desk. The smell of dried blood and fear pleasing. As were the results of his own ‘experiment.’ The other’s body had adapted wonderfully to his gift. No signs of scratches or the grievous impalement that almost ended him. He wasn't granted his own level of physical strength. But at least he could open the office doors with increased ease. Those _eyes_. A large, impish grin threatened to split his dark features in two.   
  
“I see a month’s worth of rest has done little to improve your.... ah…” his raspy voice trails off, hand pausing in the air as he searches for the the right word. Muttering a series of whispered growls and short, incomprehensible noises. “...manners!” He snaps two fingers together and points them at Flug, leaning against the desk. Looking down at the other. His guest still stuck in this current, irritating state of shock.   
  
He waits for the other to answer, the dark eyes still downcast on the furniture keeping him standing. A handful of minutes pass and Flug’s condition doesn’t. Black Hat’s brow furrows as he reaches onto the desktop and picks up a heavy crystal tumbler full of icewater. He empties the glass on the back of the stained lab coat and exposed neck. Flug jumps backwards, the sensation of the tepid water tickling unexpected.   
  
“It’s about time! Now that I have your attention,” he places both black leather gloves on the other's brittle shoulders. His dark form hunched and looming. A chilled puff of air lightly brushing against the torn bag before disappearing. “I believe you had some _questions_ for me.”   
  
His visible eye stares down into the dark eyes behind the broken goggles. Boring into him like a perfectly directed laser. Dr Flug shifts uncomfortably against the steel grip of his employer’s hands. Trembling body stilled within the vice that held him in place. His narrow chest inflates as he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

All the questions and words he had thrown about his mind in his frantic sprint down the hall escaped him. His eyes dart back up towards Black Hat, down to his shoes, and in several directions about the office. As though he could find the words around them. He looks back up at the furrowed look of thinly veiled frustration. The cocktail of discomfort and adrenaline pull the words from him.

“W-wh… what did you… what did you do to me?” His voice and neck rattle with the fear and implications of his words. Breaths short with each word between dry gulps for air. He studied the other’s face for answers.   
  
Black Hat smiles and releases him, Flug falls the 2 inches from the ground he'd been held. High top sneakers squeaking as he props himself against the high backed chair behind him.  “I saved your short, miserable life.” He strides back toward his prey, backing him into the plush chair beneath. Flug wishes the cushions would swallow him.

 _S-saved my life?_  
  
“Ho- how?” The ribbing and wooden frame of the chair pressed into his back. He felt smaller by the second. The other rose to his full height, knees inches away from the armrests. A pause settles over them before Black Hat silent steps carry him towards one of the grand Queen Anne cabinets lying seated in the corner. Delicate and deliberate motions pull the embellished doors to either side. He prepares two drinks from a decanter. Lines of frost creep up both glasses as he walks back with either in each hand.   
  
“Here.” He shoves the heavy crystal glass to Flug’s chest. His shaking rubber gloves wrap themselves around it. Cautiously, he sniffs the small amount of liquid within. The overwhelming sting of alcohol curls his nose. Black Hat settles his hips and open palm against the desk behind him. Crossing a leg over the other as he leaned back in a more casual posture than Flug's used to seeing.   
  
“One of our more idiotic clients botched one of your devices and saw fit to blow up my manor.” He taps a claw against the icy glass, a sharp refined tone momentarily breaking the silence. “You were trapped and dying. I saved you. That’s obvious you moron.” He circles the amber liquid with a few smooth motions of his wrist. Bringing it up to his lips and sipping.   
  
“I-” Flug starts and cuts himself short. _‘How?’_ “M-my memory’s… a bit, ah…” He stares down at his drink, draws it quickly to his mouth, and downs it. Sneering at the after taste. “It’s hard to remember, alright? I just… Your wrist. I remember that. You talking to me, asking if I wanted to die.” His legs shift nervously as he grips the glass. He notices again that the expected chill of the crystalware is absent.   
  
“You didn’t want to die.”  
  
Flug looks up. Something pinches in his stomach. Black Hat’s gaze doesn’t seem to be fixated on anything as he directs his words into the expanse of the room.  
  
“Ah, ok.”   
  
_He almost died._ _How is he_ ** _supposed_** _to respond?_  
  
“I asked. You didn’t want to die. So I didn’t _let_ you.”   
  
“B-by _impaling me?!_ ” His hands and the glass rattle into his lap as he leans forward.   
  
Black Hat drains the last of his drink and sets the glass down with a firm and resolute clack. He faces Dr Flug, crossing his arms over his chest. “You still don’t realize what I’ve _given_ you?” Vitriol; icy with a fresh sprig of malice, crusts the edges of his words.   
  
Flug backs further into the seat behind him. An unexpected noise filling his throat as he rocks his body forward to land the chair back onto all four legs. He immediately regrets the decision as pulling forward brings him inches from Black Hat’s scowling face. The clawed digits break the surface of his gloves, wrapping around the fabric of his lab coat and shirt. Habitually, yellow rubber gloves cover his face. He flinches back expecting some sort of impact. A choke, a punch, some spittle from the various insults. But.   
  
There was nothing. He opened his eyes, peering through the small slits between his hands. Black Hat hadn’t moved. His face now plastered with a confident, knowing smirk as he lowered the doctor to his feet. Flug’s knees bent in time with his placement on the dark hardwood floor. Confusion spanning his features as the other’s newly unoccupied hand pointed down.

 _‘Down?’_   
  
Slowly, with creaking movements, Flug’s eyes shifted to look at the space between them. His blood chilled. The first cold thing he had felt since waking up.

Black Hat’s hand sat in the middle of his bloodied midsection. He hadn’t felt it until his gaze was occupied by the gore. Ears alight with the soft patter of fresh, dripping blood in the still room. Hot and raw jolts of fresh agony halting the upward path of his blurring vision to small increments of movement.   
  
His boss appeared immensely pleased with himself. Rows of jade daggers wider and more menacing than he’s ever seen them. His knees start to spasm and give out below him. ‘ _W-why-- He’d brought him back. What could he possi--’_ A strange tug from his middle had him nose to nose-slit with Black Hat.  
  
The smirk on his boss’ face grew deeper and more unhinged as his talons scraped into the lower rib, pulling him abruptly forward. The tepid blood streaming in small rivulets down his suited forearm and onto the floor below. Each drip bringing a fresh, new scent into the air. The fear, iron, and familiar traces of his own blood’s scent forming toxic green drool stains at either side of his pleased maw. Satisfied, he uncurled his fist. Allowing Flug to fall to the ground; gurgling sounds rising out of his chest. Spatters of dark, thick, India ink shining with stunning highlights in the red windowed light.   
  
_‘Oh gods.’_   
  
His body paused in its rejection of the blackened blood surging through his throat. Between the goggles and his bare eye, he focused on the disturbing void pitch that came from him. His stomach roiled and churned as another round of thick lifeblood fell from his mouth to the spinning ground beneath him. Primordial panic set in. Both hands hastily grabbed at his stomach, trying to keep the vital organs from escaping. They felt unreasonably cold in his touch. Next to his ear, he heard a familiar dark chortle.   
  
“Calm yourself my dear doctor,” Black Hat crouched to his level. Voice inches away from his bag in the vicinity of his ear. “take a closer look.”

Flug’s wild eyes shot down to his hands as he spat a few milliliters of blood with the end of each breath. Trembling, he removed them, each shaking inch feeling like a small eternity.  
  
The muscle tissues around the area had already begun to reform out of the black mass. The precious organs that he had been cradling moved as the taut muscle and skin formed around them. The bleeding had begun to ebb as the wound closed tighter and tighter around the newest intrusion of Black Hat’s claws . _’_ He was… healing. At an inhuman rate.’   
  
A razor tipped claw stroke the inner curve of the delicate rib. Had it not been for the location of the touch, the touch could be almost... soothing.

“Beautiful,” His toothy glee replaced with genuine pride at the favorable observation. Each part of the damage anatomy forming with considerably swifter movements. His blood had interwoven magnificently with that of his ‘subject’s.’ “just beautiful.”   
  
Raking his claws along the bone. He felt the other shiver as the odd and foreign sensation threw the human below him further into the torrent of conflicting actions and stimuli. Satisfied with this ‘test,’ he withdrew his hand as one would when finishing with a pen. He lapped his forked tongue on the slickened hand, grinning at the curious mix of iron and copper.   
  
Flug’s eyes stared upward. Past his boss and at nothing. A thousand more questions entered his mind. _‘Was he immortal? Why had Black Hat shared his blood with him? Was it to save him? Out of laziness for not wanting to hunt for another scientist? What had_ _truly_ _been done_ _to him? What did being 'given' his blood mean?’_ Panic ruled him. His pupils shaking with each new thought and question. He wanted to run, _needed_ to. The instinctual drive taking over.  
  
The soles of his sneakers screeched on the polished wood and pooled blood below. His eyes stayed locked with Black Hat. Watching as the shreds of fresh entrails and blood blotted the floor and throw rug edge below him. His formal silhouette the embodiment of terror and malicious joy, as his teeth and red eye glowed in the stark crimson light. Every molecule in his body screamed one thing. _‘Run.’_  
  
He fell backwards on himself. One hand holding together the still regenerating wound and the other behind him. As he backed as fast as he could toward the door. Feeling the solid wood behind him, pushing against it. He stumbled out onto the other side. Rolling to his feet, he flew down the stairs and onto the story below. A vice grip helping him carry his weight down the carved balusters. He made a frenzied dash for his room. Lungs burning with the strain of both generating the necessary energy to heal and move.

Upon reaching the blessed knob, he fumbled with the key.

Quickly slamming it behind him and locking it before sliding down the slab. Sitting on the floor below. Flug pulled his knees toward his aching abdomen and cradled his bag in them. His unsteady breath embodied by the tension in his slender arms behind his head.

* * *

Black Hat remained as he was during Flug’s exodus. Rising to stand above the pool and streaks of blood leading away from his office. He had given the other plenty to think on with his newly gifted ‘abilities.’ Huffing a sigh of contentment. He gave his bloodied claws a final, obnoxious lick. Motioning his other hand for a second, pausing as he thought differently on it. He’d leave the slicked stains for now.   
  
The aroma was quite nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who've read, left kudos, subscribed, commented, shared, or bookmarked this story so far. It really keeps me going. I've got a lot planned for this and almost as many pages of notes as fic, so keep 'em coming. I'll keep turning out chapters. 
> 
> This one was almost twice as long as the previous chapters so it took a bit longer. I break up chapters by ideas and where each logically begins and ends. So things like page and word count are irrelevant. 
> 
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